


Stones and Springs

by Momokai



Series: sweetest touch, words like song [3]
Category: The Yin-Yang Master: Dream of Eternity, 晴雅集 | The Yin-Yang Master (2020)
Genre: Accidental Groping, Accidental Voyeurism, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bathing, Because Maturity Is Overrated, Because That's Going To Be A Staple In This Fandom So Help Me, Boya Is Not Amused, Finally, He Is Beauty He Is Grace Qing Ming Has Hair In His Face, Hot Spring, In This House Honey Bug We Stan, M/M, Nature, Pining, Post canon, Pre-Slash, Qing Ming Appreciating The Views of Nature, Qing Ming Is A Little Shit, Qing Ming POV, Qing Ming's Self Preservation Has Left The Chat, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unbeta'd We Die Like Qing Ming's Impulse Control, splash fight, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29599596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momokai/pseuds/Momokai
Summary: Dealing with unhappy court officials is always exhausting business, and Qing Ming decides some rest and relaxation is in order. He isn't expecting the company.Alternatively: Two dudes chillin in a hot spring, five feet apart 'cuz they're - AHEM
Series: sweetest touch, words like song [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165322
Comments: 15
Kudos: 135





	Stones and Springs

**Author's Note:**

> A little light hearted fun that was, right to the end, a fight to keep relatively family friendly. The struggle was real, people, oh my god.

Qing Ming steps through the portal onto the veranda of his home with a sigh perhaps too long and perhaps too suffering than strictly appropriate. A long day spent placating court officials after the discovery and apparent cleansing of a rather harmless spirit simply caught flat footed in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

The 'cleansing' Qing Ming had performed had been no more than him exasperatedly pushing the confused spirit through a portal somewhere not swarming with paranoid officials blustering their way through demands of his services as a guardian. A rather harmless if unfortunately common occurrence that Qing Ming was an old hand at dealing with, these days. Smoothing the ruffled hackles of the court officials had taken the most time and effort of the entire ordeal and Qing Ming had had about enough of it around the time they started making noises about him remaining for a time to ensure there were no more incidents. 

Honestly, the entire thing had reminded him why he avoided the courts like the plague. The scorn and entitlement of nobles with more bluster than sense exhausted him and he had abandoned all etiquette to hide the rolling of his eyes behind his fan more than once. And truly, people wondered why he preferred the company of  _ demons _ . They were certainly much less complicated.  _ And if it brought back memories of things better left forgotten, he does not linger on them.  _

After enduring such exhausting company, Qing Ming quickly decides that a little relaxation is in order, and allows the portal to close behind him without a backwards glance. He doesn't quite drag his feet as he enters his lakeside abode, but he certainly walks with the air of one very much done with the days happenings. 

He is greeted with warm smiles and polite bows by the various spirit servants that tend to him and his home, and he returns them in equal measure as he passes them to his rooms. Despite the presence of servants, the halls are as quiet and still as the lake outside, and Qing Ming spares a thought to perhaps share in some drinking with them tonight- it has been a long while since he has had the time to catch up on all the latest happenings, and honestly there would be no harm in livening them up a bit. It really is much too quiet. 

His rooms are as he had left them, disregarding the absence of the sleeping robe he had left in an unsightly heap upon his floor in his haste to prepare the morning previous. The diligent work of Honey Bug he has no doubt, a very attentive and thoughtful spirit if ever there was one. 

So long as he didn't stir her ire. The heavens hath no fury like his sweet butterfly in a tizzy brought about by his unfortunate tendency to neglect himself when stirred to purpose- be it duty or intellectual pursuits. He remembers fondly one particular instance when he had forgotten to sate his hunger for nearly an entire two days whilst buried up to his neck in scrolls on the fascinating symbolism and practices of musical cultivation- a subject that he had often left by the wayside in his youth as it isn't much a common method in this day and age, guardians and cultivation sects much preferring the more hands on, direct approach of talismans, weapons and spells weaved with the body over the more subtle, refined approach of manipulating spiritual energies with  _ sound.  _

He hadn't ever given it much thought before to be honest, at least until he'd actually seen it in action.

He had known, quite well in fact, how talented Boya was with that dizi of his,  _ (and he really did play so beautifully)  _ but he hadn't ever thought the skill extended beyond the artful. More the fool him as it turned out, when Boya had rather thoroughly curbed a wrathful spirit with but a few sharp, haunting notes. 

The subject grew beyond fascinating after that, and his sweet Honey Bug had had to quite literally drag him away from his seemingly endless piles of scrolls,  _ (honestly he doesn't even remember acquiring that many, where had they all come from, good heavens).  _

Qing Ming changes his attire absently, stripping out of the elegant white and gold layers he only ever wears when dealing with the courts and into a thin, simple blue robe he will enjoy shucking off once he reaches his destination. 

It is a little known and almost jealously guarded secret of his household that there exists on his property a rather lovely hot spring, and Qing Ming has every intention of steeping in it for the foreseeable future, and does not intend to leave unless someone is actively _dying_ , so help him. 

He barely resists just opening a portal directly to it, instead forcing himself to discard the frivolous urge and  _ walks.  _ Ah, Boya would be proud. Or, well… not so thoroughly disappointed in his character as to stare at him in a way that makes him want to either immediately apologize for his apparent shortcomings on sheer reflex or do something much less socially acceptable  _ (and that would in all likelihood probably get him killed, or worse. It would be worth it.)  _

Honestly, how one man can convey so much expression in just one look Qing Ming has no idea, but Boya is in possession of one of the most uniquely expressive pairs of eyes he has ever seen, despite the often rigid quality of his face. His very attractive face. Qing Ming absolutely hoards every actual expression that crosses said face in his memory, and will actively do his best to draw them forth. To date, he has seen Boya cranky, _(his default state, some would argue. Qing Ming would not,)_ amused, thoughtful, exasperated, and one particularly memorable occasion, flustered. 

Qing Ming will readily admit to anyone who asks that teasing Boya is indeed one of his favorite pastimes, if only because sometimes when he sees him Boya looks like he's carrying some unseen weight on his shoulders and Qing Ming  _ hates  _ it. He'd much rather his friend smile. He has a very beautiful smile. Indeed, the way it lights up his eyes and brings so much life to his whole bearing is quite lovely and yes, Qing Ming is entirely aware of how ridiculously and utterly besotted he is,  _ thank you.  _

His master had once lamented, long ago, that he foresaw the future of his love life, and was quite convinced that he was doomed to fall and fall hard, and heavens help the poor bastard he fell for and so help him Qing Ming do  _ not  _ come to him for advice because he will point and  _ laugh.  _

With a towel folded delicately over one arm, Qing Ming steps from the rear entrance of his home and quietly ascends the mountain. It’s a pleasant late afternoon, perfect for a quiet walk in the beauty and tranquility of nature, the air just this side of evening cool and the birds flitting about and singing to each other amidst the trees as they search out places to roost for the coming night. All things considered, the calming and pure atmosphere is a much needed breath of fresh air compared to the often stifling one of the city. A combination of so many sweaty, unwashed bodies living in such close quarters and the varied, quite intrusive mire of spices, smoke and filth. Of all the blessings he’d received from his mother, the keenness of his nose often proved itself more a curse. Honestly, how do people not notice it, _ugh_. In this, his trusty fan is a boon and yes, yes he does utilize it to the fullest, no one will ever _suspect_. Except perhaps Boya, but he’s polite enough not to comment. Usually. Qing Ming doesn’t think he’s noticed that he sometimes stands downwind of him, because his scent is much more preferable to most _(much)_ and heavens if he doesn’t need a break sometimes, master or not. 

Qing Ming sighs exasperatedly at himself as he follows the narrow path to the springs, ducking under the low hanging branches that act as a natural ceiling to the hidden path, batting at them when they catch at his half pinned hair. As is proving typical of him these days, his thoughts keep straying to his absent companion, and Qing Ming resigns himself to once again grabbing for a certain magic ear at some point tonight. It has been a few days since he’d last contacted Boya, and he is loath to go much longer without at least checking in to make sure the object of his much lamented affections is well and not in fact lying in a ditch somewhere. He wonders, idly, if it would be too obvious of him to request a rendezvous somewhere so soon after the last  _ (it was only a month ago, wasn’t it?) _ . Perhaps for tea, or if he’s feeling particularly reckless, a meal. Who is he kidding, he’s quite certain he could invite Boya to his  _ bed  _ and the ridiculous man wouldn’t grasp the concept unless clothes started coming off. It is a fact both endlessly amusing and horribly vexing that Boya is an incredibly perceptive warrior, able to pick up on and understand the finest of details in the world around him, but present him with a poorly disguised  _ come on  _ and it’s like he doesn’t even know the concept could  _ exist  _ let alone apply to him. 

Alright, that's stretching it a bit, Qing Ming has seen him respond to women batting their eyelashes or making blatant come-hither eyes at him with polite disinterest to outright verbal rejections so he’s not  _ completely  _ without hope. Just...perhaps selectively. Or perhaps he only sees the physical cues. Or is aware of Qing Ming’s astoundingly obvious interest and simply feigns ignorance in an attempt to let him down gently. Or maybe Qing Ming is really just reading too much into it, which is the most likely case. Qing Ming hasn’t even deduced if Boya’s tastes lean in more than one direction, as it were. He certainly makes it hard to tell. Although, he does tend to fluster when Qing Ming watches him a little too intently without realizing. He can’t help it, alright, Qing Ming is a man of culture and he appreciates beauty in all forms, and Boya is  _ exquisite _ . Sometimes he thinks his master is laughing at him from the afterlife.

Qing Ming crests the incline leading up to the springs at last and is almost immediately buffeted with warm, humid air, the promise of blessedly hot water preemptively turning stiff muscles to mush as he carefully arranges his towel on one of the many conveniently placed rocks surrounding the spring before reaching for the ties of his robe, only to pause in the process of sliding the fabric off his shoulders as his eyes alight on a second towel tossed haphazardly over another rock beside his. He blinks, perplexed. A servant, perhaps?

He finishes removing the top half of his attire and folds it neatly atop the rock to join his towel, and turns to scan the spring, squinting through the gently rising steam until he finds an expanse of bare, wet skin presented to him in the form of a rather nicely sculpted back framed in trailing locks of silken night. Entirely without his permission, an appreciative noise leaves his throat, and Qing Ming instantly winces, sheepish at his poor manners.

Only to promptly choke on his own spit when the owner of such a lovely back turns at the sound and provides him an even better view-

“Boya!?” He exclaims in delighted incredulity, and Boya,  _ (for it is indeed, impossibly he,)  _ abruptly drops to his neck in the water with furiously red ears that could, conceivably, be a product of the heat but Qing Ming is charmed regardless.

“Have you no decency!?” Boya splutters at him, and Qing Ming blinks at him, before obviously casting his gaze about the spring, naked arms spread and hands gesturing to its expanse. 

“This is a private spring, Boya, how was I to know I had an unexpected guest?” He asks lightly, and though it is unexpected, Qing Ming is by no means displeased. He is delighted, in fact. Although, it would have been nice if one of his servants had  _ told him  _ that Boya had returned- 

“I was  _ invited  _ to bathe here when I arrived.” Boya snaps, tongue sharp in his fluster, and Qing Ming waves him off unconcernedly. 

“I’m not angry with you, heavens, Boya, calm down.” Boya’s lips purse in response, brows barely easing from their habitual scowl, and Qing Ming decides a distraction is in order. He reaches for the ties of his pants. To his amusement, Boya makes an affronted sound and turns away so quickly the water churns around his bare shoulders, and Qing Ming isn’t ashamed to admit he pauses briefly to stare at the almost hypnotic way his hair glides through the water.

“Honestly, Boya, it’s like you’ve never shared a hot spring before.” He titters after a beat, and finishes with the ties of his pants to shuck the fabric from his legs. Deciding he’s flirted with enough danger already, Qing Ming forgoes removing his underwear. He wonders, not so briefly, if Boya had done the same. His mouth goes abruptly dry, and Qing Ming clears his throat loudly in the silence before carefully picking his way into the spring, instantly breaking out into pleasant shivers at the heavenly heat that swallows first his ankles, his knees, and then his thighs until he wades deeper and the water laps at his stomach. Taking mercy on his companion, he keeps a polite distance and settles on a submerged rock to let the heat do its work on his sore body, absently brushing the increasing weight of his hair over his shoulder. Perhaps he should have left it up, it’s going to be a nightmare to dry. 

“I was led to believe I’d have privacy.” Boya grumbles after a moment, and Qing Ming hums softly, conceding the point but also thinking that maybe there is more at play here. This smacks of a set up. One with Honey Bug’s clever little mitts all over it. He’ll have to buy her something nice, she really knows him far too well. 

“Ah, I apologize, Boya. If my presence offends you so, I can come back later.” Qing Ming says truthfully, straightening in the water and fully intending on leaving, however regretfully if he is bid. There always exists an ever shifting line, he’s found, when it comes to teasing his often reserved companion. Some days he takes it in the merit it is given, and returns it with his own brand of sarcastic humor. Others, he simply weathers it with long suffering dignity and, for the most part, ignores him entirely. There exist a few, ever unpredictable but increasing instances, where he even welcomes the attention with the air of one willing but unable to respond in equal manner, which Qing Ming tentatively thinks might impossibly be a somewhat stilted attempt at reciprocation. If  _ flirting  _ exists in Boya’s vocabulary, it is not a well refined skill. It’s quite charming, in any regard. 

Qing Ming is very much invested however, and wholly willing to wait for and accept the outcome of whatever struggle Boya seems to be experiencing lately. For Boya, he will be patient. 

His reluctant exit from the spring is halted when Boya eventually calls,

“Don’t go.” Qing Ming pauses with the heat of the water lapping at his thighs, and turns to peer at the other man over his shoulder. Boya hasn’t turned around, still facing away from him with only the peaks of his shoulders breaching the surface of the spring, and seems to huff something unintelligible but vaguely wry sounding to himself before adding, louder;

“I’m not kicking you out of your own hot spring.” Qing Ming hesitates for a moment, conflicted. He isn’t sure if it’s simple propriety spurring his companion to allow his presence to remain, or something else, and while he does enjoy teasing Boya he will not intrude upon his comfort in such a way if he is not welcome. Despite whatever he may say or do in good humor or the quality of his blood, he is not in actual fact an animal. Truthfully, Boya sparks such visceral feelings from him without even trying that he sometimes forgets himself or doesn’t quite know how to handle the unique fallout brought about by the various pitfalls of being thoroughly enamored _. Well, they do say love makes fools of all.  _

Slowly, Qing Ming wades back to his submerged perch, an apology weighty on his tongue but bizarrely unwilling to break the almost agonizingly awkward silence. He decides, abruptly, that yet another distraction is in order. He spares a brief moment to farewell all dignity before closing his eyes and allowing himself to slip off the rock. 

The springs are not overly deep on this side, barely of a height with his chest when standing at its deepest, but it’s only a matter of folding his legs beneath him to allow the heated water to rush up and over his head, instantly soaking his hair and forcefully driving the evening chill from the skin of his face. It’s quite invigorating. Under the water all sound is muted, the singing of roosting birds drowned out by the gentle song of shifting currents and the rhythmic thumping of his heart beating in his ears. He lingers in the peaceful silence beneath the surface for a moment, absently counting the beats of his heart, before finally allowing himself to rise again. His head breaches the surface, followed by his shoulders, and Qing Ming curses belatedly when he realizes his hair is now plastered to his face, probably giving him the likeness of a drowned spirit. Somewhere off to the side, Boya snorts, and  _ chuckles _ . Even if it’s at his expense, Qing Ming counts it as a win.

Qing Ming tosses his head, unsticking the heavy swaths of hair from his face to flick it gracelessly over his shoulder, unintentionally whipping a sheet of water into the air. The soft snickers abruptly cut off. He rubs the water from his eyelashes with one hand, the skin of his face sensitive under the pads of his fingers, no doubt kissed pink from the heat, and blinks at his companion. Boya’s eyes are closed, face scrunched quite adorably as water drips from his eyelashes and the tip of his nose, having apparently turned around at a rather inopportune moment. 

“Ah, my apologies Boya.” Qing Ming coughs, lips twitching in a hastily aborted grin, only just barely restraining a laugh. Boya doesn’t respond, simply lifting a hand from the water to drag down his face. Qing Ming opens his mouth to say something, perhaps to apologize once again, but is cut off as Boya’s hand, without warning, snaps with the speed of a striking snake into the water, sending a sheet of it straight into Qing Ming’s surprised face. 

Eyes closed, Qing Ming spits water from his mouth. 

“Sorry, my hand slipped.” Boya smirks, and Qing Ming’s eyes pop open, before narrowing. 

“Oh,” He says slowly, “Is that how it’s going to be.” How utterly delightful, it’s a rare day indeed he gets to enjoy a playful Boya. He zeroes in on his companion, who almost seems to reflexively hunch lower in the water for a beat before straightening, dark eyes meeting his in challenge. The eye each other off, neither moving. And then Qing Ming flings a sheet of water at Boya’s face. To his surprise, Boya ducks under the surface to avoid it, and doesn’t reemerge to receive Qing Ming’s follow up. Eyes widening, Qing Ming hastily scans the water around him, hands ready to block  _ (he doesn’t know what, water or fists, it could be either with Boya) _ , and only just barely catches the flash of a foot under the water before his legs are abruptly swept out from under him. He goes under with a yelp. 

He twists, hands shooting out to grab at his assailant before he can retreat, only to grab a handful of firm, clothed muscle that he clocks as exquisite right before an impending sense of doom washes over him, and his hair is suddenly  _ yanked _ . He lets go with a squawk of bubbles. He flails to the surface and splutters, hands hastily wiping at his eyes, vision clearing just in time for him to see the hand arcing for his face but does not react quick enough to duck, and the spring echoes with the wet slap of flesh meeting flesh as Boya’s palm connects with his cheek. He splutters some more as a finger is jammed none-too gently into the center of his bare chest. 

“That was my- how indecent!” Boya chokes out, ears red and eyes wide, before he makes an affronted sound not unlike a disgruntled cat and flings more water into Qing Ming’s suddenly sheepish face. Ah, of all the things Qing Ming could have grasped, it  _ had  _ to be the meat of his ass. At least he now knows no one is completely without their modesty, here. 

“My hand slipped!” Qing Ming bursts out, hands raising placatingly, too late realizing the implication of his reflexive response before Boya harrumphs in a way that is really quite amusing despite the doom in his eyes. Qing Ming can’t help it. He smiles widely, all teeth, and Boya cocks his head before scoffing disbelievingly at him. As if he is amazed at his audacity, as if he hasn’t been on the receiving end of Qing Ming’s mischief  _ (however unintentional, on occasion)  _ many times before, as if he is unaware that Qing Ming is, at best, an unrepentant little shit whatever his intentions. 

Boya whirls gracefully in the water, hair swaying hypnotically as he stands to his full height and wades to the edge of the spring. Qing Ming almost protests, but is struck unexpectedly dumb at the sight of miles of wet skin, water trailing in rivulets down Boya’s back and legs as gravity pulls it from the heavy fall of his silken hair. His mouth dries so fast he almost chokes on his tongue. His companion climbs out of the spring without a backwards glance, shoulders rolling and flicking water from his hands, pausing only to retrieve his towel and clothing. Qing Ming can’t decide if his friend is simply being petulant or if he has gravely overstepped. 

“Next time,” Boya announces lowly as he strides away, an almost imperceptible sway to his hips and still dripping a steady line of water. “Ask first!” And then he’s gone, and Qing Ming is left gaping in his wake, wondering what the hell just happened. 

**Author's Note:**

> Qing Ming touched the butt. *GASP*
> 
> I mean it my dudes, this tried so hard to become smutty. Be in awe of my self control, because it is short lived.


End file.
